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OVERLAND 

AND 

UNDERGROUND 




THE AUTHOR 



OVERLAND 



AND 



UNDERGROUND 



D 



POEMS OF THE WEST 
AND ITS MINES 



D 



By 
D. G. THOMAS 



Privately Printed 

ROCK SPRINGS, WYOMING 

19 12 






V 1 i^ 



COPYRIGHT 1912 

by 

D. G. THOMAS 

Rock Springs, Wyoming 



Printed and Bound hy 

THE FAITHORN COMPANY 

. CiixCAGO 



(0;C[.A330324 



TO 

MY WIFE AND DAUGHTER 

I DEDICATE 
THIS BOOK 

These poems, the children of my 

brain, were born, as you know, 

between shifts. I am aware 

that they lack in many of the 

essentials which go or ought to 

go into a work of this character; 

but I have done my best to 

make them acceptable to 

you and to those of my 

friends who will read 

them on that 

account. 

THE AUTHOR 



FOREWORD 

THE Coleridge definition of poetry, "The best words 
in the best order," may be adequately judged by a 
literary standard, but the "Song of the Soul" would 
much more regard the substance than the form. 

"Overland and Underground" is the epitome of a 
life begun in poverty at nine years of age as a trap- 
door boy in a coal mine, and after a thorough course 
in the school of Hardknocks with Perserverance as 
monitor and Experience as the teacher, completed as 
Superintendent of great mines of the mighty West. 

Despite the hardships suffered, the cares of life 
have never been able to interrupt the harmony that 
has always existed between the great Celtic heart of 
the author and Nature in all her moods and forms. 
His human-nature poems show that in his rise from 
bottom to top, he has not forgotten those who have 
not climbed so fast, nor lost sympathy for them and 
their hard cheerless lot. 

Mr. Thomas has spent most of his life in the coal 
mines, and his poems relating thereto are reflections 
of his own experiences. His work in the West took 
him to the mountains of Wyoming where he learned 
to love Nature in a new form, and his poems of the 
hills express this affection. 



These poems are v/ritten by a miner to the miners 
and for those familiar with the dark, black holes, their 
people, their surroundings and their tragedies, they 
have the same message of human sympathy and 
brotherhood found in the songs of Robert Burns. To 
have seen this collection grow from one to many, to 
have enjoyed the personal friendship of the author 
and his faithful loving wife and daughter, to have seen 
him overcome tremendous odds and win in the fierce 
conflict with natural inclination and vicious environ- 
ment, has been a great privilege and my extreme 
pleasure. 

Joseph Henry Sayer. 



ILLUSTRATIONS 

FACING 
PAGE 

Portrait of the Author 3 ^ 

Fontenelle 33 ^ 

It's Fishing Time 54 <^ 

^Vashakie 65 »^ 

A Mountain Stream 66 ^ 

He Was the Friend of Gentle Peace 69 v^ 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The Sunbeam and the Dew 13 

Reagan's Cabin 16 

Robert Burns 19 

"We'll Go To Lancasheer 23 

Home Again From Lancasheer 28 

Fontenelle 33 

James Bridger 36 

Down in a Coal Mine 38 

The Month of May 43 

The Mine Explosion 44 

Night 53 

It's Fishing Time 54 

Song of the Air in the Mine 55 

Joe Black's Trip 58 

On Woman's Rights 62 

Washakie 65 

The Prospector 77 

The Man that Fails 79 

Rock Springs 82 

Dennis "Waters 96 

Simple Joe 98 

To My Daughter 104 



CONTENTS— Continued 

PAGE 

In Memory of David M. Elias 105 

The Whole Story 109 

To James Needham 109 

To a Superior Person Singing 109 

The Mountain Ash Choir 110 

Welsh Service 111 

The W^orkman's Vision 112 

Goodbye, Bill 115 

Progress 116 

When I Was a Lad 117 

Sweetheart, I Love You So 119 

Pretty Annie Jones 121 

The Miner's Lullaby 123 

Don't Block the Wheels of Joy 125 



OVERLAND 

AND 

UNDERGROUND 



THE SUNBEAM AND THE DEW 

lyriGHT shook her garments, and a shower 
'*'^ Of dewy gems fell on each flower, 
Sparkling beneath the moon-lit skies 
As love does in a maiden's eyes. 

She said on leaving the pearly dew: 
"In the morning I shall call for you. 
If you a faithful vigil keep 
Nor for a moment go to sleep." 

They play and in a chorus sing 
Love to the flowers to which they cling, 
And now and then they slyly peep 
To see if any have gone to sleep. 

A Breeze came from his home somewhere 
And sees the dew-drops glist'ning there, 
So he among them gently creeps 
And rocks, and rocks till each one sleeps. 



13 



THE SUNBEAM AND THE DEW 

They smile as children do in dreams 
Lulled by the Breeze and rippling streams 
Blowing and flowing in accents deep — 
Soothing the dew drops in their sleep. 

At last the dawn with noiseless tread 
Comes creeping from his eastern bed, 
Descending from the mountain's steep 
And finds the dew-drops fast asleep. 

The song birds make the woodlands ring 
With welcome to the new born king 
Who grandly o'er the mountain creeps, 
But the dew unmindful, ever sleeps. 

The grand old monarch of the day 
Fills the earth with his glad array, 
While night with many a hurried leap 
Runs off and leaves the dew asleep. 



14 



THE SUNBEAM AND THE DEW 

He sees the flowers bedecked with gems 
From tinted leaves to slender stems, 
And hears Night in the distance weep, 
Her jewels lost, because asleep. 

Over the flowers a moment he stops 
To gather the shining pearly drops 
Lying there in the blossom's keep 
Peacefully dreaming, fast asleep. 

And one by one each precious gem 

He places on his diadem, 

Where they on waking from their dreams 

Were changed from dew to bright sunbeams. 



IS 



REAGAN'S CABIN 

'T^HE Thunder mountains proudly tower 
-*" High above the tallest pines, 
Frowning at the men that scar them, 

Boring in their sides deep mines; 
And the icy blast of winter 

Fill their crevasses with snow, 
Which the summer sun releases 

To the streams of Idaho. 

There the lordly Salmon river 

Rushes madly to the main, 
Adding streamlet after streamlet 

To its ever swirling train; 
And a trail leads on from Warren 

By Sim Willie's fruitful ranch. 
Till it comes to Reagan's cabin 

Nestling close beside a branch. 

Who was Reagan? None will answer, 

Save he was of Celtic race, 
Loving freedom as a lover 

Loves his sweetheart's form and face. 
Fought for it in many battles, 

In the trenches wet and red. 
Till the flag above him triumphed 

And his foemen's cause was dead. 



16 



REAGAN'S CABIN 

Then he sought that quiet shelter 

Far away from scenes of strife, 
Building there his lonely cabin, 

Living there his lonely life; 
Freedom's breeze around him playing, 

Freedom's waters by him flow, 
That for which his great heart panted 

He had found in Idaho. 

Delving deep into the gravel 

While the water ceaseless rolled 
Through the rude, rough patterned sluices 

Formed to catch the grains of gold; 
Season after season found him 

Bravely fronting Fate's array. 
Left him wearier and nearer 

To that bourne of endless day. 

Once his feathered friends departed 

In the autumn's russet storm. 
Leaving him alone and lonely 

With bowed head and feeble form; 
Came a trapper down the river 

To the cabin's open door, 
Where he found grim death had entered 

And that Reagan was no more. 



17 



REAGAN'S CABIN 

Folding o'er the silent bosom 

Those thin hands so hard and worn, 
Then the wasted, lifeless body 

To its resting place was borne. 

* * * * 

There within a woodland shelter 
Where the mountain daisies grow, 

Reagan sleeps away the seasons 
In the wilds of Idaho. 



18 



ROBERT BURNS 

Recited on Burns' Anniversary at Evanston, Wyo. 



T X 7"E meet tonight to honor him, 

^ ^ Old Scotia's fav'rite son, 
Whose name and fame will never dim 

As long as waters run; 
As long as sun and moon look down 

Upon this world so fair 
Each year we'll proudly gather round 

To praise the bard of Ayr. 

In fancy we can see the cot 

Wherein his life began, 
The misery of his hard lot 

From childhood unto man. 
And wonder how a soul so great 

With gifts beyond compare 
Could rise from such a lowly state 

Upon the banks of Ayr. 



19 



ROBERT BURNS 

Misfortune waited at his birth 

His future to control, 
But though his frame she held to earth 

She could not hold his soul; 
And soaring upward like the lark 

Unfettered by despair, 
His songs sent sunshine through the dark 

Upon the banks of Ayr. 

We see him mingle with the poor 

Down-trodden of his race. 
Who, like himself, are held secure 

In poverty's embrace; 
With cheerful song he strives to free 

Them from all pressing care 
By singing man's equality 

Upon the banks of Ayr. 

He taught his fellowmen to feel 

Like brothers of the soil. 
To hate the man whose iron heel 

Pressed on the brow of toil; 
The man who labored long and hard 

With forehead hot and bare, 
Was more to him than king's regard, 

Upon the banks of Ayr. 



20 



ROBERT BURNS 

The maiden crowned with beauty's charm, 

And filled with strange unrest, 
Finds solace walking arm in arm 

With him who loves her best; 
She feels his heart in rapture beat, 

Its passion to declare, 
And over her an incense sweet 

Comes from the banks of Ayr. 

We see these trusting lovers stand 

Each side a purling stream. 
Fast holding to each others hand 

Secure in love's young dream; 
His heart, his life he fondly gives 

That she might with him share 
The love that in his bosom lives 

Upon the banks of Ayr. 

He weeps as if his tender heart 

Would break with pain and woe, 
When he and Highland Mary part 

To meet no more below; 
Fell death has closed her gentle eyes 

And left him to despair, 
And we can hear his groans and sighs 

Upon the banks of Ayr. 



21 



ROBERT BURNS 

How wonderful was his brief span, 

So full of fire divine! 
While poverty clung to the man 

Fame made his home her shrine; 
His songs found lodgment in the heart 

Of sorrow and of care, 
And raised it to a nobler part 

Upon the banks of Ayr. 

Then let us all with fond acclaim 

Become a merry throng 
By honoring our poet's name 

With dancing and with song; 
While sadness from our presence turns 

To hide itself elsewhere. 
We'll have a jolly night with Burns 

Upon the banks of Ayr. 



22 



WE'LL GO TO LANCASHEER 

f^OOM. wife an' sit ye doun a bit, 
^^ Ye must be worn I know, 
Wi' trudging like a patient slave 

To keep the house just so, 
An' let the childer do the work 

That ye are wont to do, 
Ye've labored long enough for them. 

Let them now work for you; 
Coom draw yer chair close up to mine 

An' be content a while, 
That I may see once more your face 

Beam wi' the oud sweet smile, 
For I've been thinkin' lately 

How nice 'twould be, my dear, 
For both on us to take a trip 

Back to oud Lancasheer. 

Now stop a bit afore ye speak. 

An' hear my story through: 
I got a letter yesterday 

From one that's dear to you; 
It said as how yer mother 

Wor so lonely, old and gray. 
An' how she longed to see us two 

Afore she passed away; 



23 



WE'LL GO TO LANCASHEER 

I did na' tell of it last night 

I feared 'twould grieve ye sore, 
That's why I waited till today 

So I could think it o'er, 
An' I've been thinkin' ever sin' 

That it would give us cheer 
To take a pleasant journey back 

To good oud Lancasheer. 

Somehow I could na' sleep last night, 

My eye-lids would na' close, 
I rolled an' tossed about in bed. 

But could na' find repose; 
My thoughts like childer out o' school 

Kept flittin' to an' fro, 
But always stopped among the scenes 

We knew so long ago; 
When night had vanished an' the dawn 

Came wi' its golden light 
I then wor wide awake as now, 

An' had been all the night; 
But happiness wor in my heart, 

My mind wor bright and clear 
When I resolved that coom what may 

We'd go to Lancasheer. 



24 



WE'LL GO TO LANCASHEER 

There's Ned an' Tom, our only sons, 

They know just what to do. 
An' Mary wi' the kind blue eyes, 

That looks so much like you — 
The three are urgin' us to go, 

They've talked it o'er wi' me. 
An' now are gettin' things in shape 

For us to cross the sea; 
So get yersel all ready, lass. 

Don't tarry nor delay, 
An' bid the neebors fond goodbye, 

For we will start today; 
An' sin' I've fully made my mind, 

I have na' e'en a fear 
But that we'll cross in safety 

An' again see Lancasheer. 



25 



WE'LL GO TO LANCASHEER 

When we arrive at Bolton, 

The place where we wor wed, 
I know we'll be right welcoom 

By the landlord o' Nags Head, 
For he was very good to us 

Upon our weddin' day. 
An' so I'm sure he'll be the same 

When we go back that way; 
We'll stop wi' him a day or two. 

To meet oud friends in town, 
An' then we'll go to Alchemoor 

An' to the Rose an' Crown, 
Where we will rest oursels a bit 

An' have a sup o' beer 
In memory o' days we passed 

In good oud Lancasheer. 

Coom now an' fix thysel' a bit, 

Put on thy very best, 
The people over there shall know 

How Yankee folk are dressed, 
We'll show them we have money 

Saved against a rainy day, 
An' better off in worldly things 

Than 'fore we went away; 



26 



WE'LL GO TO LANCASHEER 

Coom, hurry now the time is short 

An' let us make a start, 
The sparkle in yer kind blue eye 

Tells me what's in yer heart, 
Thy mother will be happy 

When she sees us both appear 
Upon her little door-step there 

In good oud Lancasheer. 

how my heart is longin' 

For a sight o' that oud place 
Where I was born an' where I first 

Beheld yer kindly face; 
The comrades that I use to have 

In those good days of yore, 

1 wonder if they'r still alive 

An' live in Alchemoor? 
Of course I know we'er gettin' on, 

Our hair is tumin' gray, 
But what on that? Our hearts are young 

An' full of joy today. 
An' we will be more happy 

When England's shore appear, 
An' greet us in the name o' all 

We love in Lancasheer. 



27 



HOME AGAIN FROM LANCASHEER 

"V^ES, lads, I'm glad we'er back again, 
■*■ Yer mother here an' me 
Have had a very anxious trip 

Returnin' o'er the sea; 
We thought on you and Mary 

An' all we left at home, 
That's why we could na' coom too fast 

Across the ocean' foam; 
We'd only been in England 

Not above a day or two, 
When somethin' kept a nudgin' 

An' a pullin' us to you; 
Yer mother could na' sleep o' nights 

An' I wor feelin' queer 
Because ye wor so far away 

An' us in Lancasheer. 

The ship as we went over in, 

The biggest we had seen, 
Wor loaded with nice things to eat 

An' every thing was clean. 
But still we could na' eat it. 

Nor taste on it nor smell 
Wi'out unloadin' all we had 

Inside on us as well. 



28 



HOME AGAIN FROM LANCASHEER 

'Twas after we'd seen England's shore 

Spread out afore our sight 
That we began to feel that we 

Possessed an appetite; 
Yer mother ate a little 

As the good ship ventured near, 
But I decided I would wait 

An' eat in Lancasheer. 

The rugged cliffs that border 

On oud England's verdant land, 
Appeared to kindly welcoom all 

Returnin' to her strand; 
The voices of the people 

An' the bustin' noise an' din 
They made upon the monster deck 

Just as the ship sailed in, 
Wor cheerful-like an' pleasant 

After days upon the foam. 
But none on it could take the place 

Of what we left at home. 
No, none of it was home-like, 

'Twas all so strange an' queer, 
I almost wished we'd not begun 

The trip to Lancasheer. 



29 



HOME AGAIN FROM LANCASHEER 

At Bolton things are not the same 

As we had known afore, 
The landlord of the oud Nag's Head 

Is gone forever more; 
Another man is in his stead, 

A man we did na' know. 
That's why we only tarried there 

A half an hour or so; 
The little town of Alchemoor 

Has changed its pretty name 
For one as I don't like at all. 

An' this I think a shame; 
The Rose an' Crown is runnin' yet 

We drank some on its beer. 
But somehow it did not taste right 

Not like oud Lancasheer. 



30 



HOME AGAIN FROM LANCASHEER 

We found yer Grandma aged much, 

An' not o'er strong an' spry, 
But happy at the sight on us 

An' quite resigned to die; 
We watched her gently fade away. 

Her eyes grow strangely dim. 
When God's sweet angel came an' took 

Her saintly soul wi' him; 
We laid her in a quite nook 

Beneath a scented rose 
That she had planted there hersel' 

While shapin' for life's close; 
An' there among her kith an' kin 

She'll sleep from year to year 
Until the trumpet calls the dead 

To life in Lancasheer. 

Some of the friends o' early days 

Had wandered far away 
To distant lands, as we had done. 

An' there they chose to stay; 
But few wor left to meet us, 

An' when we saw these few. 
We noticed they wor sadly changed 

An' not the friends we knew; 



31 



HOME AGAIN FROM LANCASHEER 

Others are in the silent graves, 

Where all on us must go, 
When death forbids the stream o' life 

To longer ebb an' flow; 
An' when I gazed upon the mounds 

That held oud friends so dear, 
I felt that we had seen enough 

Of good oud Lancasheer. 

Yes, yes, I'm feelin' better now 

Than I have felt for years. 
At seein' all on you so well, 

Yer mother's happy tears, 
An' every thing about the place 

Fills me wi' such a joy 
As nothing in this world could change, 

Or banish or destroy; 
I love this land where ye wor born, 

That kindly shelters me. 
An' I'll admit I also love 

That oud land o'er the sea; 
But it is not my home no more. 

An' I am happy here, 
But proud that I have seen again 

Our dear oud Lancasheer. 



32 




FONTENELLE 

Where can one see a grander scene 
In all of Nature's vast domain? 



FONTENELLE 

A MOUNTAIN STREAM 



'T^HE sun has left a golden rim 
-*■ Of glory shining in his stead; 
Meanwhile the ocean welcomes him 

Into her broad, green-mantled bed; 
The moon, attended by her maids — 

The faithful stars that love her well — 
Will soon look down into thy glades, 

Thou ever rippling Fontenelle. 

Where can one see a grander scene 

In all of nature's vast domain? 
No picture spread upon a screen 

Could so well please the eye and brain; 
And contemplation leads the mind 

Along time's path as through a dell 
Beyond the ken of human kind 

To thy beginning, Fontenelle. 

The mind of man with all its lore, 

With all its depth and breadth of thought. 
Becomes confused while brooding o'er 

The years you saw and counted not — 
And counted not? Perhaps I'm wrong; 

The record may still with you dwell, 
May yet be read by bards whose song 

Will tune with mine, sweet Fontenelle. 



33 



FONTENELLE 

Since Bonneville stood upon thy shore 

Thy history we plainly scan, 
But what was it in years before 

Thou were beheld by mortal man? 
But then enough is seen and known 

To charm the senses with a spell; 
You gladden us with thy rich tone 

Thou ever flowing Fontenelle. 

Here shaggy herds were wont to graze 

Upon each green, delightful bank. 
And bending down to drink would gaze 

And see their image while they drank; 
Unconscious of the lurking foe 

Until they heard his savage yell 
When there was mingled with thy flow 

Their warm life blood, sweet Fontenelle. 

Today where once the bison tramped 

Along this valley, rich and green; 
Where savages and trappers camped 

And clashed in warfare's frightful mien. 
Are cattle browsing round at will 

And homes where peaceful fam'lies dwell, 
Dependent on this limpid rill — 

Thy,silv'ry_4^waters, Fontenelle. 



34 



FONTENELLE 

Oh! winding stream! Oh! laughing rill! 

I see the willows bending low, 
As if to listen to the trill 

Thy waters make as on they go; 
The snow-capped peaks that gave thee birth 

Can ne'er a sweeter story tell, 
Can ne'er bestow upon the earth 
A richer gift than Fontenelle. 



35 



JAMES BRIDGER 

1804—1881 

Mountaineer, Trapper, Hunter, Guide 



A BEDOUIN of the wild, wild West was he; 
'^^' Her secrets, Nature never from him held ; 
His eye far-set, the eagle's could out-see; 
In courage strong, in woodcraft unexcelled. 

His years were spent in solitude and strife. 
In wilderness, in regions new and quaint; 

The busy marts, the city's bustling life, 

To him were prisons barred by harsh restraint. 

The first white man to gaze on Great Salt Lake, 
That wonder lying in the mountain's lap; 

The Yellowstone, where waters fall and break 
In awful grandeur through the rock- worn gap. 

The wind-carved rocks still pedestal the peaks. 
Still keep their hooded summits in the sky; 

The vagrant cloud in passing often seeks 

To shield them from the gaze of mortal eye. 

The great Tetons, the sisters of the range, 
Encrowned alike in diadems of snow; 

Remain the same, though they have seen a 
change 
Come over hill and valley far below. 

36 



JAMES BRIDGER 

The shaggy herds have vanished from their 
haunts, 
The redman, once their owner, pines and 
fades; 
All must succumb unto the whiteman's wants — 
The greedy hand of commerce which pervades 

He lived the nomad's life, the Indian's ways. 
His comradeship he loved, his manners aped ; 

He dwelt with him until his closing days, 
Then to the noisy city he escaped. 

The path he made, became in after years 
The highway for an Empire westward bent; 

Nor dreamed it once, amid its hopes and fears, 
Of him who gave to it a continent. 



37 



DOWN IN A COAL MINE 

A REMINISCENCE 



/^OME, gentle muse, let us descend 
^^ Into the caverns, deep and wet; 
Perhaps we'll find a cherished friend 

At work there yet. 
For mem'ry to my vision brings 

A picture that will not depart; 
Meanwhile she plays upon the strings 

That hold my heart. 

So, backward o'er life's road I go — 

To other days and youthful years, 
Where first I tasted of its woe 

And bitter tears; 
And I behold a little child 

That scarce ten summers yet had seen. 
By stern necessity beguiled 
To labor mean. 

His eye, as bright as is the dew 

Upon the rose leaf in the morn, 
His soul as sinless as the blue 

The heaven's adorn; 
His voice, like childhood's happy voice 

Is pleasing in its tender tone, 
And he is ready to rejoice 
At kindness shown. 



38 



DOWN IN A COAL MINE 

His home is dear to his young heart, 

Wherein he never felt alarm; 
Embellished by a mother's art 

And matchless charm; 
And here he learned to love the light 

And air God freely gives to all, 
But now grim hunger, gaunt and white, 
Begins to call. 

I hear the whistle's loud, hoarse blast 

Call labor ere it yet is day. 
And sleep that holds its eye-lids fast 

Flies swift away; 
The birds are singing in the trees; 

Are pouring out their tuneful lays, 
Which mingle with the morning breeze 
Like songs of praise. 

The little child is kissed and wakes; 

Two loving arms around him press, 
And from his lowly cot she takes 

And helps him dress; 
A scanty meal, then hand in hand 
He goes with father to the pit; 
Too young to know or understand 
The cause of it. 



39 



DOWN IN A COAL MINE 

He stands upon the waiting cage 

Prepared to disappear from sight; 
The devil noting well his age 

Laughs with delight; 
Aye laughs — because 'tis here he stands 
With tools that tempt a little child, 
With which when taken in his hands 
He is defiled. 

Such little ones with sinless souls, 

Amid the darkness, smoke and din, 
Soon learn in those black, grimy holes 

The ways of sin; 
The words he hears are not all clean. 

Would not a charming presence grace; 
But then, perhaps, they match the scene 
Of such a place. 

He smells the smoky, fetid air, 

And breathing it his senses swim, 
While something like unto despair 

Comes over him; 
But he must work, though sick and sore, 

Must help to keep the wolf at bay. 
The butcher and the company store 
Must have their pay. 



40 



DOWN IN A COAL MINE 

O, Poverty! the grief and pain; 
The misery and carking care 
Attendant on thy lowly train 

Are hard to bear; 
And were it not for Hope's bright ray 

That yet within us dimly glows, 
We'd fall upon life's stormy way 
O'ercome with woes. 

Again the whistle's noisy blast 

Is heard to echo o'er the hill; 
The long, long weary day is past, 

The world is still; 
And homeward in the dying day 

The toil-worn father and the son 
Are seen to slowly wend their way. 
Their labors done. 

He sees his home, and as he nears, 

A face his weariness beguiles; 
A figure in the door appears — 

An angel smiles; 
For there his loving mother stands 

With outstretched arms to greet her boy 
Who shows his tender, blistered hands 
And weeps for joy. 



41 



DOWN IN A COAL MINE 

O, Mother! when I saw thy form 

Laid low in icy death's embrace, 
I yet could see a hallowed charm 

In thy sweet face; 
The memory of by-gone years 

Rushed o'er me like a flood of woe, 
Revealing all the joys and tears 
Of long ago. 

My much loved sire in manhood's prime 
Succumbed to hardships underground, 

And you, who loved me all the time 
Likewise have found 

A resting place from care and strife; 
And now you both sleep in the shade 

Where poverty, the ban of life 
Can ne'er invade. 



42 



THE MONTH OF MAY 

'T^HE sweet-eyed May, scent-laden, 
-*" Trips gaily into view; 
Her tender feet, from wading 
Are moist with April's dew. 

The silent hill and valley 

Where sleeping verdure lies. 

Behold their tenants rally 
And open wide their eyes. 

The trees put out their banners 

On every slender stem; 
From which come glad hosannas 

Of birds that sing in them. 

Her magic spell — unbroken 

By e'en an icy chill — 
Remains to safely open 

The buds that frost would kill 

When trees and flowers blossom 

Late in her afternoon. 
She'll gather them and toss them 

Upon the lap of June. 



43 



THE MINE EXPLOSION 

Founded on an incident of the coal mine explosion 
at Hanna, Wyo., June 30, 1903. 



'VT'E lovers of the earth and sky, — 
**■ The air and warm sunshine; 
Give heed while I relate a tale 

About a deep coal mine; 
How death upon a cloud of flame 

Rode madly through the pit, 
And in his ire consumed with fire 

The men that toil'd in it. 

Two brothers died below that day, 

Two brothers fond and dear, 
Who came from England's distant shores 

To live and labor here; 
Their wives — two handsome new made brides 

Came with them o'er the foam 
To aid and bless with love's caress 

The founding of a home. 



44 



THE MINE EXPLOSION 

They settled in a mountain camp 

Where nature long had frowned. 
So desolate the hills and plains 

So barren was the ground 
That not a tree nor e'en a flower 

Could find a place to grow; 
For shifting sand rolled o'er the land 

Like winter's new-born snow. 

These brothers were inured to work 

From childhood in a mine, 
Where ever present dangers lurk 

To frustrate man's design; 
Where hardship left upon the brow 

Its ugly mark of care, 
Where all was blight and gloom and night 

To those that labored there. 

Their names — well never mind their names- 

We called them Bob and Joe; 
As such we knew them in the mine. 

As such we'll ever know. 
When numbers are engulfed in death 

By sheets of livid flame, 
We note the sum of those o'ercome 

And not so much the name. 



45 



THE MINE EXPLOSION 

Poor Mary from her childhood hour 

Had known the keenest strife, 
And happiness had only come 

To her as Bob's sweet wife. 
When he was close, her dark brown eyes 

Beamed forth her loving pride, 
But when away, the neighbors say 

She feared lest woe betide. 

She'd talk to them about the mine, 

About the deadly damp. 
That ever waits to touch the flame 

On some poor collier's lamp. 
Then burning madly rush along 

The channels underground, 
Until its breath had stilled in death 

All living souls it found. 

And talking thus the tears would flow 

Like rain adown each cheek. 
Convulsive sobs would shake her frame 

Till she could scarcely speak. 
The neighbors noting well her grief 

Declared with tearful sigh 
If death should rob her life of Bob 

She, too, would surely die. 



46 



THE MINE EXPLOSION 

But Joe's wife was a diff'rent lass, 

Light hearted all day long; 
No sadness seemed to cloud her sky 

Nor mar sweet Nellie's song; 
She'd laugh at Mary's gloomy moods, 

Then say with playful wit: 
**It's time enough to cross the bridge 

When we have come to it." 

Love plays queer pranks with women's hearts. 

So masterful his skill, 
That smiles and tears and hopes and fears 

He causes at his will; 
Poor Mary's tears her love bespoke, 

For Bob they'd ever flow; 
While Nellie's song the whole day long 

Spoke equally for Joe. 

The men worked on from day to day 

Down in that dark, deep pit; 
With pick and drill they toil'd until 

The hour would come to quit. 
Though weary, yet a cheerfulness 

Remained to bless their lives 
For, would not they in love's sweet way 

Be greeted by their wives? 



47 



THE MINE EXPLOSION 

And would not Mary's eyes be wet, 

Her tears of gladness flow, 
And would not Nellie's joyful song 

Give happiness to Joe? 
A bath, and after that a meal — 

The collier's main repast — 
Would drive away the cares of day 

Like chaff before a blast. 

One morning in the month of June 

The sky was bright and clear. 
The whistle sent its dismal sound 

To workmen far and near; 
The miners heeding duty's call 

Bade loved ones fond goodbye, 
But not a sign came from the mine 

To tell them death was nigh. 

The gasmen in their morning round 

Had been from place to place; 
Had marked with chalk the day and date 

Upon each working face; 
Then out they went to meet the men 

Who waited there in line 
To hear them say the word, ere they 

Went down into the mine. 



48 



THE MINE EXPLOSION 

The colliers one by one approached, 

Approached, but dared not pass 
The spot where stood those cautious men 

Who watched the deadly gas, 
And asked: "How is my place today?" 

A watchman then replied, 
*"Tis safe and sound, no gas was found. 

All, all is safe inside." 

And thus assured that all was well, 

They entered that black hole. 
And every man at once began 

To blast and load his coal. 
The engines groaned and shrieked and hissed, 

The trips arose and fell. 
The busy hum of rope and drum 

Said all was safe and well. 

The wives, engaged in wonted tasks. 

Pursued them with a will; 
The little children laughed and played 

Most happily, until — 
A shock as of an earthquake came 

With fearful, loud portent; 
Then from the mine came forth a sign 

Which told them what it meant. 



49 



THE MINE EXPLOSION 

A terror such as fear provokes 

Held them in its embrace; 
A ghastly pallor spread its tinge 

On every person's face. 
They saw the angry smoke and flame 

Leap upward from the slope, 
And in its glare they felt despair 

Rush in, and kill their hope. 

Oh! God! it is an awful sight; 

Grim ruin everywhere ! 
Since this much we can plainly see, 

What must it be down there? 
What has become of those brave men 

At work deep underground, 
Who stood in line here at the mine, 

When all was safe and sound. 

At last the spell that held them all 

Relaxed its fearful hold, 
The frenzied women madly rushed 

To where the red flames rolled. 
And peering in that dark abyss 

They yet could see it flare. 
As though it sought each open spot 

To see if life were there. 



so 



THE MINE EXPLOSION 

In horror and in wild dismay 

They gathered round that hole, 
Imploring God to spare his rod 

And save the colliers' soul 
Poor Mary, foremost at the scene 

Weeped bitterly and long; 
But Nellie's face we could not trace 

Among the widowed throng. 

While Mary lingered near the mine, 

The picture of despair, 
Sweet Nellie, broken-hearted, stayed 

At home, quite helpless there; 
She knew no face, she heard no voice; 

But plaintively and low 
She tried to coo a love song to 

Bring back her dear, dead Joe. 

Week after week brave volunteers 

Undaunted by dismay, 
Toil'd ceaselessly to find the men 

Who died below that day. 
But wreck and ruin filled the mine; 

Obstructions high and wide 
Like demons lay to bar the way 

And keep the dead inside. 



51 



THE MINE EXPLOSION 

The evening Bob and Joe were found 

A figure strangely white, 
Like lily fair was lying there 

On her lowly cot that night. 
The stars were vying with the moon 

In lighting heaven's dome, 
When through the door an angel bore 

Her gentle spirit home. 

The new made graves are filled at last 

Bob sleeps in one alone, 
The wild winds sigh as they pass by 

With many a low sad moan; 
And Mary wandered far away. 

Just where I do not know; 
But neighbors tell how poor sweet Nell 

Sleeps in the grave with Joe. 



52 



NIGHT 

'T^HE mountain's shadow goes to greet 
-*■ The calm, approaching night; 
And in the valley where they meet 
They lovingly unite. 

Her silent footsteps softly creep 

Along the path of Day; 
And if the road be rough and steep 

The stars light up the way. 

The fretful child, worn with his play 
Is kissed, and lo! he dreams 

All weariness and pain away 
Among the starry beams. 

And he, the toiler for the home, 
On whom so much depends 

Knows, when he sees her gently come, 
'Tis as one of his friends. 

O Night! the friend of weariness 

Giver of rest and joy! 
The cares of day that on us press, 

You, while you reign, destroy. 



53 



IT'S FISHING TIME 

TT'S fishing time, the mountain stream 

-*" Is calling loud; 

The pebbles in the ripples gleam 

In misty shroud; 
Do you not hear the water hum? 

Its merry chime 
Tells us to hurry up and come — 

Its fishing time. 

It's fishing time; go for your rod 

Your line and reel, 
By simply turning o'er the sod 

You'll catch and feel 
The juicy worms — the best of bait — 

That twist and climb 
As if they'd like to shun their fate — 

It's fishing time. 

It's fishing time; away with care, 

Let it remain 
To nurse the semblance of despair 

And fancied pain; 
The mountains have no naughty germs 

Committing crime, 
So hurry up and dig the worms, 

It's fishing time. 



54 




IT'S FISHING TIME 



SONG OF THE AIR IN THE MINE 

T WAS sitting in the entry, 

-^ Humming low a fancied song, 

While my fevered brow was cooling. 

In the air that rushed along, 
Through the dreary, darkened chambers 

Where the deadly lurking damp 
Lingers harmlessly till started 

By the flame on someone's lamp. 

The pick, pick, pick of the miners 

I heard in the chambers afar. 
Like the noise of cracking muskets 

When soldiers are at war; 
Now and then a sound like cannon 

Roared out with a lurid glare. 
When a blast, red-tongued, exploded 

And rolled on the vibrant air. 

Onward — the current moved onward, 

Swiftly and coldly it flew 
Into the farthest recesses 

Still keeping constant and true; 
Hurrying past me it murmured 

In language quite careless and free: 
*'0, man, thy life shall be forfeit 

If thou for a moment stop me. 



55 



SONG OF THE AIR IN THE MINE 

"Make room for my wings, O mortal, 

Make room for my wings to fly 
With breath for the panting toilers 

Or they will perish and die; 
Stand not in my way for an instant 

Obstruct not my hard-worn path. 
Or the gas that I should make harmless 

Will flame in its awful wrath. 

"When the world was in disorder. 

Ere the days and nights began 
Changing cycles with each other, 

Long before the birth of man, 
I was constantly in motion 

Making ready all the earth 
For the coming and the welcome 

Of humanity's proud birth. 

"Then I lived to be man's servant 

On the land and on the wave, 
Doing wonders at his bidding, 

Working like a faithful slave; 
Driving clouds across the heavens 

When he needed cooling rain; 
When dispelling them that sunshine 

Might smile on the earth again. 



56 



SONG OF THE AIR IN THE MINE 

"Now they take me in the darkness 

Where the Devil's imps abound; 
There to kill the gas that gathers 

Like a stealthy foe around, 
Waiting to disclose its presence 

When a flaming lamp is near 
To ignite it, then to hasten 

On its wild and mad career. 

''Keep my passageway wide open, 

Make me sing as on I go. 
Then the gas that I encounter 

Meets an unrelenting foe; 
I alone can make it harmless. 

Make it shudder, break and flee, 
And in safety keep the miners, 

That depend for life on me." 



57 



JOE BLACK'S TRIP 

/^UR first stop was at Portland, 
^^ Where the everlasting rain 
Rolls from the clouds like torrents 

Rushing headlong down a plain, 
An' when the clouds was empty 

They'd go sailing out once more 
To fill up with the ocean 

Then return again an' pour; 
I thought of my own mountains 

These dry an' rollin' plains 
An' wondered what they'd look like 

Soaked up in them there rains, 
An' I said give me Wyomin' 

With its icy air and snow 
An' the jingle of the sleigh-bells 

Which these people do not know. 



58 



JOE BLACK'S TRIP 

Then we went to Californy 

To try and shed the rain 
But all the time them pesky clouds 

Kept follerin' the train, 
And poured on us their contents 

Whene'er they got a show, 
And soaked us soul an' body, 

Which was durn sight wus nor snow. 
The city of the Angels 

That we'd read so much about, 
Has lots of pretty flowers 

Inside the fence and out; 
But I wouldn't give a petal 

From our native, old wild rose 
For all the fancy botany 

That in that country grows. 

Where'er we went we had to go 

Beneath a umber-rel, 
'Cause when it wasn't rainin' 

It was simply hot as — well, 
I can't find words to say it — 

But while we sojourned there 
My mountain home kept callin' us 

To come and breathe its air. 



59 



JOE BLACK'S TRIP 

To come an' see the cattle 

An' the fodder green an' rich, 
An' drink the icy water 

That was runnin' in the ditch; 
An' I tell ye, boys, a longin' 

Filled my old eyes with a mist, 
An' something kept a puUin' 

That we couldn't well resist. 

Of course I seen the oranges 

An' lemons on the trees, 
But how in all tarnation 

Can a fellow live on these? 
A little fruit in season 

Is well enough, no doubt 
But there's nothin' like good beef-steak 

To make a man pan out; 
An' here upon the home ranch 

Are the things that fairly suit 
To make a man contented 

An' a great deal more to boot; 
Its not too hot in summer. 

In winter not too cold. 
An' grub that keeps us healthy 

As we lovin'ly grow old. 



60 



JOE BLACK'S TRIP 

No, I wouldn't give Wyomin' 

Nur a mountain nur a plain, 
Fur all of Californy, 

Her sunshine an' her rain; 
Her banks of pretty flowers, 

Nur them whoppin' big grape vines, 
'Cause ye can't work when its rainin' 

An' its too hot when it shines; 
I'd rather be on Piney 

Where the cattle grow an' thrive. 
Where we can sleigh in winter 

An' in the summer drive. 
An' visit with the neighbors 

In a manner free from strife. 
Than to live in any other place 

An' worry out my life. 



61 



ON WOMAN'S RIGHTS 

An answer to an attack on woman's 
suffrage, made by D. B. R. 



A H ! Laddie, I have read your chatter, 
•^^' Wherein you rant and rave and clatter 
'Gainst Women's Rights, which does not scatter 

Nor hide in fear. 
I deem your screed less mind than matter 
And not sincere. 

I've seen the women of my state 
Go to the polls, calm and sedate, 
And cast a vote to elevate 

The human race, 
Without the slightest fear or hate 

And with good grace. 

Glance backward on life's stormy page, 
And note the change from age to age 
Wherein each period does assuage 

The poor man's lot; 
See if it justifies your rage. 

Your unkind thought. 



62 



ON WOMAN'S RIGHTS 

Progression in the human race 
Goes forward with a steady pace; 
The new ideals the old displace 

And help us on; 
So we should meet them face to face 

While yet 'tis dawn. 

Man's freedom came, I'd have you note, 
When he began to think and vote, 
In times not very far remote 

From this our age; 
Ere then he floundered like a boat 

In ocean's rage. 

Since we have seen ourselves advance, 
And suffrage does our toil enhance, 
Why do you hurl your shining lance 

At targets human; 
Why not allow a fighting chance 

To our fair women? 

The Movement which you vainly scorn. 
Has oft the brunt of battle borne, 
And though its flag is badly torn 

It's there to stay 
Till Gabriel blows his golden horn 

On Judgment day. 



63 



ON WOMAN'S RIGHTS 

And why should women be denied 

The Rights with which you are supplied? 

Are you so lordly in your pride 

As not to share 
With her who suffers at your side 

Your sumptuous fare? 

Let her, my lad, have every right 
Which man does for himself invite; 
Be freed from pettiness and spite 

And sad dejection; 
And in addition, man, go fight 

For her protection. 



64 




WASHAKIE 



WASHAKIE 

Aifectionately Dedicated to Dr. Joseph H. Sayer 
of Cozad, Nebraska. 



The storj}, this of Washakie, 

Related years ago to me 

By old men of the Shoshone. 

npWAS in the merry month of June — 
-*• When Nature, like a maiden dressed 
To meet her lover, looks her best; 

Attired in robes that sweetly tune 
With sunny days and moonlit nights 

And air that braces and delights — 
That Washakie camped by a rill 

Which tumbles down the mountain's side 
Into the valley, deep and wide, 

Then hurries onward, onward till 
Far from the land of Shoshone 

It flows a river to the sea. 



65 



WASHAKIE 

If you have seen the mountain streams 

Roll down the canyons foaming white, 
Released by summer's sunny gleams 

From banks of snow, that glisten bright 
Upon the highest of the peaks 

That are the first to greet the sun, 
And last to feel on their cold cheeks 

His warm, red kiss when day is done 
Or seen the islands of the air 

Drift slowly till they hide and whelm 
With fleecy shrouds the peaks that share 

The glory of their azure realm; 
You've seen a picture where God's hand 
Makes beautiful our native land. 

Then add to these, the pines that sigh 

Whene'er a zephyr passes by; 

The aspen trees that gaily fling 

Their silver banners out in spring. 

And flowers that in rare beauty blow 

Beside the disappearing snow, 

While overhead and near and far 

Our feathered friends, God's minstrels, are. 

Enchantment makes her dwelling place 

Where Nature's gardener aspires 
To deftly on the landscape trace 

Her master's wishes and desires. 



66 




If you have seen a mountain stream 
Roll down the canyons foaming white. 



WASHAKIE 

'Tis not howe'er such scenes sublime 
That to the savage eye appeals; 

His instincts point him to the clime 
Where the Great Spirit kindly deals 

With his necessities, and there 

He journeys, certain of his share. 

In such a place the camp was made, 
The horses turned adrift to graze 
Their fill upon the grassy glade; 

The squaws assumed their wonted ways 
While faithful scouts with eagle eyes 

Surveyed the landscape and the skies 
For signs that should to them disclose 
The presence of their lurking foes. 
But nowhere was the tell-tale mould 
Indented by the stealthy tread 
Of hostile foot, and overhead 
No curling smoke to heaven rolled. 
Security's seductive spell 
Upon the cautious warriors fell. 
And squatting on the cushioned ground 
They smoked, and passed the pipe around 
In silence, save that with each smoke 
A grunt the solemn stillness broke. 



67 



WASHAKIE 

And when the feast of smoke was o'er, 
The pipe of peace no longer burned, 
Some sought the streamlet's pebbled shore, 

And some into the forest turned. 
While some, beneath a spreading tree, 
Remained to talk with Washakie 
About his manly, war-like son 
Who in their battles had displayed 
The warrior's ready art and trade, — 
Had fought their enemies, and won. 

The chief was but a savage child 

Of Nature, and as yet untamed 
In whitemen's eyes, and undefiled 

By his environments, but famed 
For traits the passing whiteman lacked; 

For honesty — all that it meant — 
For wisdom and for tender tact 

In tribal joys and discontent; 
Loving the truth; and from his lips 

No substitute for it e'er came; 
The lying tongue that halts and slips 

Whenever virtue breathes her name 
He hated, and the man of lies 
Could find no favor in his eyes. 



68 




w 
u 

< 
w 

w 

o 

o 
p 
w 

s 

w 

H 
< 



WASHAKIE 

He was the friend of gentle peace, 

Ever ready to take her hand 
Whene'er she urged that war should cease 

Its devastation of the land; 
But crafty foes beset the path 

And often did they make her flee; 
Then they encountered in his wrath 

The mighty arm of Washakie. 
The annals of the tribal page 

Record his prowess in the fray, 
His feats of strength, his awful rage 

That none of them could curb or stay 
Until his enemies had fled 
Or at his feet were lying dead. 



69 



WASHAKIE 

But now the chief, hke some good king 
Of whom a grateful people sing, 
Was seated where the cooling breeze 
Sang sweetest in the waving trees, 
Beloved and honored, as a knight 
Whose cause was ever just and right. 
His favored son, Nan-nag-gie strayed 
Afar into the forest glade 
With comrades of his age and size 
Who saw within those deep-set eyes 
Ambition's worthy passion gleam 
Like sunshine on the rippling stream; 
And often had they heard him say 
That in some happy future day 
He'd lead them as his sire had done 
Against the Blackfeet and the Sioux 
And, if needs be against the two 
Proud, boastful tribes, if joined as one. 



70 



WASHAKIE 

But hark! alarm has seized the camp; 

Upon the hill is seen the foe 

Flitting like shadows to and fro 

In war's attire; the heavy tramp 

Of horses mingles with the yell 

Of savagery that fills the dell. 

They come, they come! From left to right 

They ride around the little band 

Of warriors that are close at hand; 

Descending like a flash of light 

Into a sky that's black as night. 

But Washakie with voice and arm 
Is quick to quiet the alarm; 
And calling loudly from the glade 
The warriors hasten to his aid, 
And rushing out to meet the foe 
They strike him first the hardest blow. 
The fight soon ends; the foeman's rout 
Is followed by the victor's shout. 



71 



WASHAKIE 

Nan-nag-gie with the utmost speed 
Came forward, but alas too late 
To try his skill, or show his hate 

For those whom he could see recede 
Over the hill from which they came 

For glory, but retired with shame. 
The chief, his eyes aflame with wrath. 

Then said: "See, I have killed this Sioux 
But where, brave warrior, where were you 

When enemies beset our path? 
Now that you see the foes withdraw 
You clatter forward like a squaw." 

The youth a moment bowed his head 
As if ashamed at what was said; 
Then looking squarely at his sire 
With passion gleaming in his eyes 
He cried: "My name will yet arise 

As smoke does from a new made fire, 
And ere the sun descends, will be 
As great as yours, brave Washakie." 



72 



WASHAKIE 

With that he started like the wind, 

His pony dashing up and on 

The hill o'er which the foe had gone, 

Till he was lost to those behind. 
The warriors gazed in mute surprise 

Until the mad youth passed from sight, 
And seeing in their chieftain's eyes 

The sparkle of a softer light, 
Each to his horse and mounting, rode 

Over the hill the way he went, 
The outline of his figure showed 

His recklessness and rash intent; 
And lest he overtake the foe 

Or rush into their ambuscade. 
They hurried fast as horse could go 

To be in time with ready aid. 

Faster and faster, on he flew, 
Faster and faster they pursue. 
But all in vain, they saw him fall. 

Pierced by arrows and by spear. 
His soul passed out beyond recall 

As kindly help was drawing near. 



73 



WASHAKIE 

The sun was setting, and the night 
Was darkening the mountain side 
When they returned with him who died 
While life was new and hope was bright. 
They laid him in his father's tent 

Who beckoned them to leave it so, 
As o'er the lifeless form he bent 

Convulsed by death's untimely blow; 
The watchers passing in the night, 
Must not appear before his sight, 
Must not intrude upon the grief 
That overwhelms their mighty chief. 

"My noble boy! my brave, dead son! 

Hope of my tribe, hope of your sire! 
Could you forgive my hasty ire. 

Could I atone the evil done, 
How gladly would I die for thee, 

Would meet the arrows of the foe. 
The same that pierced and laid thee low, 

But woe is me, yea, woe is me." 

Lamented brave chief, Washakie. 



74 



WASHAKIE 

"I taught you how to bend the bow, 

To speed the arrow straight and true, 
To love your tribe as they loved you, 

And lead them on against the foe; 
They would have gladly followed thee 

Had they thy reckless intent known 
Of fighting with the foe alone; 

Woe is me, woe is me." 
Wailed the brave chief, Washakie. 

"Flesh of my flesh, soul of my soul. 

Your life was just as much of mine 
As is the branch unto the pine 

O'er which the mighty tempests roll; 
The branch is broken from the tree 

Which mourns for its dismembered limb 
That cannot be restored to him; 

For woe is me, yea, woe is me." 
Sadly wailed brave Washakie. 

"The eyes are closed that flashed with fire. 

The gaping wounds, that felt the dart 
Go through the palpitating heart. 

Gave death to thee, and to your sire 
Have caused his fondest hopes to flee; 

The tongue is still that once could bribe 
The homage of our mighty tribe; 

Woe is me, woe is me." 
Still mourned the brave chief, Washakie. 



75 



WASHAKIE 

All the night with bended head 
The sad chief waited with his dead, 
Mourning the lonely hours away, 
Until the sky was tinged with gray; 
The warriors, guarding well his tent, 
Heard him through the night lament, 
But none were bold enough to dare 
Encroach upon his presence there. 
Nor speak while gliding to and fro 
Lest they disturb him in his woe. 

But when the sun had risen high, 

He ventured forth like one in age, 
And gazed intently at the sky 

As though it would his pangs assuage; 
His feeble voice bespoke the grief 

That like an arrow tore apart 
All semblance of their mighty chief. 

And left him with a broken heart; 
His eyes bedimmed with sorrow's blight, 

No longer blazed with fervid glow; 
His hair so black but yesternight. 

At morn is like the new-born snow. 



76 



THE PROSPECTOR 

'T^HE sun swings low, but its bright glow 
-*" Illumes with a mellow light 
The mountain peaks with golden streaks, 

Ere he sinks and hides from sight. 
Here all alone in a world my own, 

I live far away from strife. 
Lured by the gold these mountains hold 

And for which I stake my life. 

I do not sigh, as years pass by 

Like clouds that near me roll; 
But fondly grope in the ray of hope 

That lights up my lonely soul; 
My star still gleams, in all my dreams. 

O'er the spot I deem most fair. 
And I know, I know by its fervent glow 

That the gold, my gold is there. 

When hunger gnaws to make me pause 

And my tightened belt won't hold; 
Relief comes sure in the magic lure 

And the certainty of gold, — 
Gold — gold that lies with covered eyes 

In the grip of Creation's might, 
And will only wake when I crush and break 

The folds that hold it tight. 



77 



THE PROSPECTOR 

With saddened look, my youth forsook 

The scenes of my earthly stage; 
Likewise my prime passed on in time, 

And left me the cares of age; 
I plod along with hope still strong 

That the next blast will unfold 
To my anxious eyes, the wealth that lies- 

My gold, my gold, my gold. 



78 



THE MAN THAT FAILS 

T GIVE a toast to him that strives 
"■■ For better things in life, 
By sailing out on seas of doubt 

From shores of want and strife; 
And should his ship go down before 

The fury of the gale, 
I honor him as much or more 

Than one who does not fail. 

Here's to the man of dauntless mien, 

With courage to do and dare 
The flight sublime from want and crime 

And poverty's cold stare; 
Though from the valley of unrest 

The plucky fellow hails, 
I like him if he does his best 

E'en though his effort fails. 

The heart that beats with discontent 

In some poor fellow's breast 
Is not to blame because its aim 

Is freedom from unrest; 
And if it struggles from the gloom 

That hides it in its veil. 
Let us be kind and give it room 

So that it may not fail. 



79 



THE MAN THAT FAILS 

Real courage wins our fond applause 

No matter where 'tis found, 
The voice of praise attend its ways 

Above and under ground; 
Just so unselfish deeds impel 

The doer to prevail; 
The hearty effort pleases well 

E'en though the actor fail. 

But what of him, the idle knave. 

Who sits and vents his hate 
For those who strive to keep alive 

Ambition's worthy trait, 
And frowns when these would cut the thong 

That holds them in life's vale; 
And when he sees things going wrong, 

Laughs loud because they fail. 

The bravest are the men who go 

Where others dare not try. 
Who look for life where death is rife 

In mines, where strong men die 
Beneath the overhanging rock, 

Or gases that prevail; 
Unmindful of the awful shock — 

They go — and sometimes fail. 



80 



THE MAN THAT FAILS 

The man that leads a mighty host 

In warfare's bloody game, 
Is not more brave than those who save 

Their brothers, without fame; 
And those who venture in the dark 

On danger's unseen trail, 
Deserve much more fair Glory's mark 

Although they often fail. 

So here's to heroes underground, 

The living and the dead. 
Whose only aim in life's hard game 

Was but to forge ahead; 
And though they never reached the goal 

Toward which they fondly sailed. 
Still I admire each plucky soul 

That tried to win but failed. 



81 



ROCK SPRINGS 

WRITTEN AT EVANSTON 



TDEHOLD a city in the highlands 
•^^ Of Wyoming's bare and dry lands. 
A child of industry; her birth 
Was lowly like the poor of earth, 
And as she grew in strength and pride 
Her wants were lovingly supplied 
By labor's hand. She now obeys 
Its mandate, and the debt repays. 

Not for sky-scrapers, iron-framed 
And rock-cemented, is she famed; 
No grand cathedrals raise their spires 
To catch the songs of angel choirs; 
Nor does sweet Agriculture's worth 
Find lodgment in her unkind earth; 
But scattered o'er her barren soil 
Are humble homes of men of toil, 
As dear to them and just as fair 
As homes more favored other where. 
She's nothing but a wild-west town 
From former wildness sobered down 
To modern manners; yet a trace 
Of old life marks her hardy face. 



82 



ROCK SPRINGS 

Here's Bitter Creek; an empty thing 
Save when the melting snow in spring 
Rolls madly down the mountain's side 
And fills its channel deep and wide. 
At times it nearly overflows 
With dirty water, as it goes 
Beyond the home of Noah Walters 
Where it for a moment falters 
To proudly view Jock Noble's castle 
Before it starts to fight and wrestle 
With old bottles, cans, and sundries 
Certain men throw in on Sundays, 
Mondays, Tuesdays and on all days 
When they're drinking — which is always; 
On it goes — its filthy charges 
Dash against old Uncle George's 
House on stilts, from which it dodges 
Past the stable of Frank Hodges', 
By Woll Dickson's humble dwelling; 
Chopping, grinding, booming, swelling, 
Curling, whirling, onward ever 
Till it flows into Green River. 



83 



ROCK SPRINGS 

O, Classic Creek! rich in tradition 
Of tragedy and superstition; 
Your yearly, reckless inundation 
Provides the means of sanitation; 
Besides, the Lord knows very well 
When you have purged yourself of smell 
And other things that much displease 
You've freed the town of foul disease. 
How many men have you beheld. 
Who in outlawry bold excelled, 
Fall victim to another's aim 
Without disclosing once, his name? 
With you the bad man — feared and hated 
By all the world — originated. 
Flourished, fell and passed away 
When law assumed her righteous sway. 

The mountains in the distance rise 
In barren grandeur to the skies; 
The nearer foot-hills old and gray 
Like billows seem to bend and sway 
Whenever storms sweep o'er the plain 
With neither snow nor kindly rain. 
But on their wings instead they bear 
Huge clouds of sand which fill the air, 
The houses, nooks, and every space 
That can afford a lodging place. 



84 



ROCK SPRINGS 

Sometimes it blows until the land 
Seems one vast world of moving sand — 
The playthings of the wind that roars 
And piles it up around the doors, 
Like snow-drifts on a wintry day 
When blizzards rage and shriek dismay. 
"It doesn't always blow this way," 
The cute old pioneer will say 
When asked about this sandy curse: 
"Sometimes," he says, "It blows much worse." 

But you have many sunny days 
That fill your sky with mellow haze 
And charm the senses with a spell 
Your people know and love so well 
And O! the nights, the nights in June 
Made matchless by a gracious moon, 
Flooding the land until it seems 
Mid-day without its glinting beams; 
A cloudless sky, an atmosphere 
Through which the lovely stars appear 
Nearer, clearer, and more fair 
And larger here than anywhere. 



85 



ROCK SPRINGS 

The centuries of wind and sand 
Have carved as with a magic hand 
Upon the rocks, unique designs 
Artistic in their queer outlines. 
Wind-swept and old, yet they will stand 
Like monuments upon the land; 
And there they'll be when Time has told 
That all the waiting years have rolled 
Into eternity's vast deep 
Where centuries and ages sleep. 

Beneath the rocks, far, far below 

Two thousand human beings go 

Each day, each busy working day 

With lamps to light them on the way 

To their black chambers, where the coal 

Awaits the heavy blast to roll 

In broken fragments from the vein 

Which loathes to part with e'en a grain. 

But these brave men, white-skinned, and strong 

Of faith that right will conquer wrong — 



86 



ROCK SPRINGS 

Have heard necessity's low call 
And heeding it are one and all 
Keen for the task the day demands 
In labor at their horny hands. 
Not heavy-hearted men; I know 
For I worked with them years ago; 
No, no. The task which must be done 
By each, is cheerfully begun 
And finished with a song that tends 
To ease the labor as it ends. 

Ye brothers of the underground, 

God-like, erect, and brave and bold; 

I greet you with a joy profound. 

In memory of days of old. 

When life with us was bright and new 

And I was counted one with you. 

And think ye I will e'er forget 

The old days that are living yet? 

No, no, brave hearts, it cannot be 

While Time's torch brightly burns for me. 



87 



ROCK SPRINGS 

I've heard a collier's simple song 

Ring sweetly through the darkened space, 
Bearing a message, clear and strong, 

Of courage to his toiling race. 
The melody, the sentiment, 
Each to the other color lent. 
Which, with a mellow voice, combined 
To cheer and comfort all his kind. 
'Twas when the charge had been exploded, 
The coal was ready to be loaded, 
And he was waiting for a car 
To fill and then send out afar 
To markets, where they must have coal 
To make the wheels of commerce roll. 
The song — when he began to sing — 
Seemed such a simple little thing. 
Yet had the power to make one feel 
A satisfying comfort steal 
Into the heart — a conscious pride 
In those who labored at his side; 
It made one think and then resolve 
That when misfortune did involve 
A brother in its tightening coil 
He'd help him with his fruits of toil; 
And when it ended soft and low 
I felt a kindly spirit glow 
Within the chambers of my breast 
And free my soul of its unrest. 



88 



ROCK SPRINGS 
SONG 

When we think that life's frail bubble 

May at any moment burst, 
Ending all our earthly trouble 

With the hopes and joys we've nursed; 
We should not forget the neighbor 

Whose best days are past and gone; 
Who has not the strength to labor, 

Nor the courage to press on. 

Courage, boys, and do not falter 

On the road that leads ahead; 
There's a joy at duty's altar 

Waiting, when our course is sped; 
Onward — helping one another 

Till we pass life's last sharp stone, 
Heedful of the needing brother 

Whose sad fate may be our own. 

Cheer up, lads, there'll come a morrow 

With a gift of joy for you. 
Severing the cord of sorrow 

Which has long been held in view; 
Keep the lamp of hope still burning 

In the window of the soul. 
So that when from trouble turning 

We may plainly see the goal. 



89 



ROCK SPRINGS 

Day after day in this old town, 
The trips run swiftly up and down, 
Bringing the coal from pitchy night 
Into the broad and open light; 
Taking the empty cars again 
Into the darkness where the men 
Struggle and strain and fume and sweat 
For every dollar that they get. 
For them there is no *'easy street," 
Nor any way, whereby to beat 
The collier's rugged, hard wrought game, 
Save by good work and steady aim. 
The money paid to them all goes 
Into a channel, where it flows 
A golden stream of wealth and joy 
Which no one could or would destroy. 
The merchant, business-like and bold, 
Goes fishing in the stream for gold. 
Nodding and smiling at kindly fate. 
Holding his bargains up for bait. 
That women passing by, might look. 
And nibble at the luring hook; 
The butcher, clean and wide awake 
Catches his share by means of steak. 
And then, the ever smiling grocer 
With always "Yes, sir," never '*No, sir,'* 
Standing among his choicest wares 
Busily takes his wonted shares. 



90 



ROCK SPRINGS 

The motion picture show inclines 
To part the children from their dimes. 
The savings bank takes in some gear 
And pays you four per cent per year, 
But when the same by it is lent 
It charges eight to ten per cent. 
The tin-horn closeted somewhere 
Is busy raking in his share; 
The young, the old, against his game 
Go rather strong, but quit it lame. 
There stands the ever shining star 
Behind the richly mirrored bar; 
White-aproned, clean and all attention, 
Prepared for anything you mention; 
He with his new- coined jokes beguiles 
His customers with fetching smiles; 
He gets his share — they get their fill — 
What once was their's goes in his till; 
What once was his, goes — pass it o'er — 
Next morn they've none, but he has more. 



91 



ROCK SPRINGS 

Many have prospered in a way 
That means forgiveness on that day 
When he who rules — the Judge and King- 
Will welcome them, while angels sing. 
Others prospered because their creed 
Embraced the realm of sordid greed, 
And while obeying its demands 
Gathered the wealth with dirty hands; 
Secured in this they now would win 
Forgiveness for committed sin, 
With saintly looks, and saintly speech 
As vehicles on which to reach 
The promised land, where angels throng 
To chant God's praise in heavenly song. 

Some have prospered, not in wealth, 
But in the glow of rosy health 
Pursue the tenor of their way 
In happiness from day to day. 
And these are happier than those 
Whose greedy arts at once disclose 
A selfishness that does not shame 
When decency proclaims her name. 



92 



ROCK SPRINGS 

I like the money — I like the jingle 

Of golden eagles, double, single, 

Any way, just so it tinkle 

And make my eyes with pleasure twinkle. 

I like to earn it, feel it, spend it. 

That's why I can't afford to lend it. 

Real fun is gained in proper spending 

Not in grasping, hoarding, lending, 

But in parting with the treasure 

For a bargain labeled ''Pleasure." 

Still I admit that discontent 

Comes o'er me when I've not a cent 

To purchase for my appetite 

The things in which it would delight; 

But gold while charming to the eyes 

Will not buy seats in Paradise; 

Will not buy sleep, nor rosy health: 

Such joys don't alw^ays come with wealth. 

But never mind — I like Rock Springs, 

The industry that sweats and sings; 

The coiling rope, the merry hum 

It makes in winding round the drum; 

The men, the women, young and old 

Who make and spend the hard-earned gold; 

The mines, the hills, the wind, the sand, 

And more than all — the good, glad hand 

Extended by the friends of yore 

When I am in their midst once more. 



93 



ROCK SPRINGS 

She'll be a happy, good old town 
So long as trips run up and down 
The deep, black slopes in grim array. 
Bringing the coal from night to day; 
Keeping the men at work below 
That market fires may redly glow 
In forge and furnace, near and far. 
Wherever labor's children are. 

What can destroy the fair renown 
That hovers o'er this busy town, 
Which pictures in its hissing steam 
Prosperity's delightful dream? 
Should hatred flaunt its grim ensign 
Above each busy working mine. 
And silence reign instead of noise 
We'd see the end of all her joys, 
Her wealth, her pride, her lofty station. 
Would soon relapse to desolation. 
The trouble in a town commences 
Whene'er the people lose their senses. 
And started once the Lord knows when 
Peace will return to it again. 



94 



ROCK SPRINGS 

Let reason occupy her throne 
And give to every man his own, 
And nothing more and nothing less; 
And children will arise and bless 
The name of those at whose command 
Arose the mart for labor's hand. 

We fondly hope that God will guide, 

And keep her people satisfied, 

And happy in a destiny 

That leaves them prosperous and free. 



95 



DENNIS WATERS 

T X ^HEN some one shall write the story 
^ ' Of Wyoming's humble birth ; 
Of her past and present glory 

Which is known throughout the earth; — 
Of her sons and lovely daughters 

Who acclaim her of the best, 
Let the name of Dennis Waters 

Be enrolled among the rest. 

Not because of deeds of valor 

Wrought upon the gory field, 
Where grim death with ghastly pallor 

Penetrates the brightest shield; 
For my hero is no soldier, 

But with sunshine and with mirth, 
He bears lightly on each shoulder 

All the troubles of this earth. 



96 



DENNIS WATERS 

Life is full of sunshine, plenty 

To dispel man's ev'ry gloom; 
Yet there isn't one in twenty 

Who can take and give it room; 
But with Dennis it's his treasure, 

'Tis in fact his banking roll, 
With it he distributes pleasure 

Satisfying to the soul. 

God bless Dennis, may he ever 

Smile the clouds of grief away; 
May his happy, glad endeavor 

Meet with recompense each day; 
Bless old Ireland for giving 

Such a gentle spirit birth, 
Who has found the art of living 

In the avenues of mirth. 



97 



SIMPLE JOE 

TVTAY, nay, you must not chide the lad 
■*-^ Nor twit his poverty of mind; 
The truth is, he is not as bad 

As those who are to him unkind; 
If you should pat his head, and speak 

To him as you would to a friend 
You'd see the pallor on each cheek 

With pleasureable color blend. 

True he is simple — like a child 

He plays all day with childish things; 
His lonely hours are thus beguiled 

With that to which his fancy clings; 
For he is neither boy nor man — 

Though grown in size to man's estate — 
And has not power to even scan 

The vagaries of unkind fate. 

Sometimes he'll wander all alone 

To places far out of his way. 
Where, in an atmosphere his own. 

He passes aimlessly the day 
Among the flowers, or chasing bees 

That sip the honey they contain; 
Seeming as though he looked on these 

As enemies in his domain. 



98 



SIMPLE JOE 

He never speaks, nor does he heed 

The voice that beckons him away, 
Unless it be the voice of need 

Which summons him to meals each day; 
And at such time it's understood, 

That he is near to someone's bin 
Having collected coal and wood, 

Waiting, ready to bring it in. 

Somehow he seems to know right well 

He ought to work for what he gets. 
In this does he more than excel 

The lordly idler, who besets 
Society, and does not toil 

Nor do a thing, whereby to earn 
E'en the respect of those who moil 

With lamps that ever dimly burn. 

Harmless? Why, sir, he wouldn't harm 

A living thing God placed on earth; 
To him all creatures have a charm 

Which makes them seem of double worth; 
Besides, he's welcome everywhere, 

In any house he wants to go; 
However scanty be the fare 

There's always some for simple Joe. 



99 



SIMPLE JOE 

He wasn't this way from his birth, 

No, no. Once he was just as bright 
As any lad upon this earth. 

Appreciating with delight 
The comradeship of kindred souls 

Who labored in the mines each day; 
And in those gas-infested holes 

He was at home, as much as they. 

I'll ne'er forget the day they brought 

Him out, and laid him on the bed; 
They told me that he had been caught 

'Neath falling slate, that mashed his head; 
His voice returned but once since then. 

And that was just three years ago. 
When an awful shock brought back again 

Words to the lips of Simple Joe. 

Send him away from here, you say? 

Why, man alive, do you not know 
That when he gained his voice that day 

It was to save the men below? 
You didn't? Well, then list to me. 

The story I'll tell in a breath. 
You'll then learn why it is that we 

Will keep poor Joe until his death. 



100 



SIMPLE JOE 

'Twas summer time when this occurred, 

I was the engineer, and so 
The very first to hear the word 

That made us all love Simple Joe; 
Aye made us all; for until then 

Our women e'en made it a rule 
As well as little boys, and men, 

To think of Joe as but a fool. 

The morning whistle blew its blast. 
The miners went to work below, 

With hopes the warm sunshine would last 
To cheer them in the evening's glow; 

The engine groaned as out it tossed 

The used-up steam from its exhaust. 

Like clock-work all was going well. 
Responsive to the signal bell 
The trips were rushing to and fro 
Out and in to the depths below; 
And workmen came to me to say 
We'd make a record hoist that day. 



101 



SIMPLE JOE 

My eye was centered on the bell 
Which plainly said that all was well, — 
When, glancing toward the open door 
I saw a face as ghastly white 
As snow upon a moonlit night, 
Seeming as though it did implore 
Attention from someone who'd know 
That trouble prompted Simple Joe. 

Into the engine house he came. 

His face ghost-like, it seemed with fear. 
And without calling me by name, 

He shouted loudly, ''Engineer! 
Engineer! The Whistle! Blow! 

Quickly warn the men below! 
See the fan-shaft all aflame!" 

He did not utter one word more. 
And gasping fell upon the floor 
A helpless mass. At first I turned 
To where the fan-shaft fiercely burned, 
And saw the smoke and embers roll 
And twist and curl beyond control; 
Then back I went the quickest way 
And made the whistle shriek dismay; 
Then to the telephone I ran 
And bade the drivers tell each man 
To hasten out before the smoke 
Into the main air current broke. 



102 



SIMPLE JOE 

When Simple Joe beheld the men 

In safety from the mine appear, 
He smiled, but never spoke again 

Though urged by every miner here; 
Our supper o'er, that very night 

We held a meeting in the hall, 
Where in the fullness of delight 

The men and women, one and all 
With heart-felt gratitude declared 

Upon our oaths, come weal or woe, 
No matter how we later fared, 

We'd share our lot with Simple Joe. 



103 



TO MY DAUGHTER 

On the death of her friend, age 11 years. 



"VrOUR very best friend is gone, my dear, 

"*■ Is gone on a summer's vacation; 
Is gone from the strife and troubles of life 
To a pleasanter habitation. 

She has closed her books and said goodbye 
To loved ones so kind and devoted; 

But you must not weep nor disturb her sleep, 
For Vina, my dear, is promoted. 

The flowers will bloom and fade and die, 
The years come and go in rotation, 

But still to the end your very best friend 
Will remain on her pleasant vacation. 



104 



IN MEMORY OF DAVID M. ELIAS 

STATE INSPECTOR OF MINES 

Killed in the second of two explosions that occurred in No. 1 
Mine at Hanna, Wyo., March 28, 1908, while leading a rescue 
party to recover the bodies of those killed in the first disaster. 



TWTY friend is dead. Life's curtain fell 
■*■"-*• While he was busy on the stage, 
Performing parts that he knew well 

Would much of sorrow's pangs assuage. 
Killed in a mine. Obeying the voice 

Of mercy and the widow's prayer, 
Responding to duty, not from choice 

Did he become a martyr there. 

We grew together to man's estate, 

Till fifty years had passed us by; 
Hopefully plodding along, when fate 

Decreed that one of us should die; 
He was the one — it had to be — 

I to remain unto the end — 
Until the summons comes to me 

To go and join my life-long friend. 



105 



IN MEMORY OF DAVID M. ELIAS 

Did friendship end when death's cold hand 

Upon his noble brow was laid 
Bursting the warm and tender band 

That years of comradeship have made? 
Or, does the golden thread extend 

Across the chasm of despair; 
I still holding to my end 

He still holding his end there. 

Imbued with honor's sterling worth 

From precepts taught to him in youth; 
He knew no nobleness of birth 

Save what is born of royal truth; 
Loving his home, his fellowmen, 

His God, and this, his native soil, 
And if he hated, it was when 

Some creature sneered at those who toil. 

I saw him climb through envious strife. 

Through jealousies and endless blame, 
Until he reached a plane in life 

Higher than that from which he came; 
This collier's son whose childhood years 

Were darkened by misfortune's shade. 
Ne'er once forgot his toiling peers 

Though many newer friends he made. 



106 



IN MEMORY OF DAVID M. ELIAS 

The man who dies and does not leave 

An enemy among mankind, 
While living, does not much achieve 

And dying, leaves not much behind. 
Man must be strong if he be good, 

He must be good if he be just, 
And, if in life for these he stood, 

Someone, in death, defames his dust. 

When death, with sudden, cruel stroke, 

Struck at the lives of those he knew, 
The voice of duty softly spoke 

And urged and told him what to do; 
Responsive ever to her call. 

He hastily prepared to go. 
Hoping that death had not struck all 

Who worked that day in the mine below. 

Into the depth of that horrid slope. 

Which thrice in fury's grasp had flamed. 
He calmly went, in fervent hope 

To rescue those death had not claimed; 
Strong men, the bravest of the brave. 

Tested and tried in other years. 
But with one thought — and that to save — 

Attended him as volunteers. 



107 



IN MEMORY OF DAVID M. ELIAS 

His task was just begun; below 

He knew death lurked with visage grim, 
Ready to strike with one quick blow 

Himself and those who dared with him; 
But unafraid, he ventured on — 

On 'mid perils everywhere, 
Looking for life — but life had gone 

With flames that burned in fury there. 

How it happened none can tell! 

Why it happened none will know! 
With him a host of brave men fell 

Under the force of that hard blow; 
The widow's prayers will not avail, 

The orphans weep and vainly yearn. 
For like a ship lost in a gale, 

He's gone — and never will return. 

Oh! what would we do if hope's bright ray 

Should vanish from the human breast, 
Leaving the trusting soul a prey 

To the agony of doubt's unrest? 
But no! it gleams like a brilliant star 

Set in the arch of heaven's dome. 
Pointing to where our loved ones are 

And leading to our final home. 



108 



THE W^HOLE STORY 

'T^UD Nolan shot! Dead you say! 
•^^ Killed last night in Baxter's house? 
Well — men should never get too gay, 
Nor monkey with another's spouse." 



TO JAMES NEEDHAM 

TJE does not drink nor smoke nor chew, 
'*'■*' In that respect he's unlike you; 
But on the other hand, friend Jim, 
You do not lie and steal like him. 



TO A SUPERIOR PERSON SINGING 

OHE turns up her nose when she sings, 
*^ The dear little musical elf; 
It cannot be others' she smells. 

So the odor must come from herself. 



109 



THE MOUNTAIN ASH CHOIR 

'T^HE leader waved his magic wand, 
"*• And lo, there rolled as from his hand 
A flood of sweet, melodic notes 
From bird-like throats. 

The melody unhindered stole 
Into the chambers of the soul, 
And glowed until to it was given 
A glimpse of heaven. 

O singers from my mother's land 
Now I can plainly understand 
Why those who leave thy hills and dales 
Still yearn for Wales. 

Go on, Glyndur, with voice and heart 
Exemplify your matchless art; 
The echoes of your tuneful choir 
Will raise men higher. 

Through you each one of us may share 
The joyful message which you bear 
To brothers on these western trails 
Far, far from Wales. 



110 



WELSH SERVICE 

T LIKE the old Welsh service, 
■*■ The Congregation's song 
That fills the sacred Temple 
With music, clear and strong. 

The Master's loving message 
Conveyed in tuneful art, 

Relieves the heavy burden 
That presses on the heart. 



Ill 



THE WORKMAN'S VISION 

T HEARD the shout of Labor 
-*■ Exulting in the fray, 
The gleam of its bright saber 

Flash in the light of day; 
The flag it proudly followed 

To Victory's sweet goal 
Is now enshrined and hallowed 

In ev'ry workman's soul. 

No blood was shed in fighting, 

No hate or rage was felt, 
But by a firm uniting 

The fatal blow was dealt; 
And stript of all its power 

The Tyranny of Man 
Bewails the joyful hour 

The people's reign began. 

I saw the great procession 

March with a purpose grand. 
And sweep away Oppression 

That long had cursed the land; 
The tyranny of ages 

No longer showed its head, 
And on the world's new pages 

A law for man was spread. 



112 



THE WORKMAN'S VISION 

I heard the voices singing 

A new and glorious song, 
That ever kept on ringing 

In vibrance clear and strong; 
It proudly told the story 

Of struggles in the past 
And how the day of glory 

Had dawned on them at last. 

I saw the humble cottage 

Partake of Comfort's share 
The toiler's mess of pottage 

Grow into better fare; 
And he no longer fawning 

At Mammon's ready nod, 
Stood under heaven's awning 

And only bowed to God. 

The day had come when Reason 

Sat on the throne of Might, 
And banished far the Treason 

That had opposed the Right; 
The voice becoming stronger 

Proclaimed its righteous cause, 
And Tyranny no longer 

Could stand behind the laws. 



113 



THE WORKMAN'S VISION 

Oh! hasten Time, and banish 

The evils men endure; 
Make every hardship vanish 

Make happiness secure; 
Give hope and strength to Labor, 

Uphold it in the fray, 
Till all who wield its saber 

Shall see the better day. 



114 



"GOODBYE, BILL" 

M. C. Barrow — "Bill Barlow," Editor of "Sagebrush Philosophy," 
a magazine of sunshine, died October 9, 1910. These lines were 
published in the memorial edition of said magazine. 



L-IILL is resting in the valley, 
^^ And the constant river flows 
Through its rugged rock-bound alley, 

Which it widens as it goes — 
Broadening as onward sweeping 

O'er the pebbles white and still 
Till it nears where he is sleeping; 

Then it murmurs: ''Goodbye, Bill." 

Goodbye, Bill; goodbye forever. 

Rest in freedom from all pain, 
Death, which intervenes to sever, 

Will unite us all again; 
Hope, the star that beams with glory. 

Sheds its rays around us still, 
Maybe, when we end life's story, 

We can whisper: "Howdy, Bill." 



115 



PROGRESS 

'X'KTHEN smiling Progress comes along 

^ ^ Bestowing everywhere a favor; 
She moves the patient, waiting throng 
To emulate her gay behavior. 

Wherever Idleness has bound 

The arm inured to rugged labor, 

The galling thong is quick unwound 
Or cut in two by her sharp saber. 

Old Poverty with abject mien, 

Repulsive to the eye of gladness, 

Cannot endure her cheerful scene 

Which will not brook the shade of sadness. 

For plenty follows in her train. 

And both are linked unto each other; 

Whatever tends to part these twain 
Hurts labor, their dependent brother. 



116 



WHEN I WAS A LAD 

TXJHEN I was a little lad 

' ^ Working in the mine with dad, 
He gave me an easy job 
Throwing rubbish in the gob; 
Or I helped him tamp the hole 
When he had to blast the coal, 
When the smoke had passed away 
This is what he used to say: 

Come, my lad, help me to load 
For the driver's on the road; 
If we v/ould full wages earn 
We must keep up with the turn. 

He grew old as I grew strong, 
Then I helped him more along; 
I gave him the easy job 
Throwing rubbish in the gob; 
But the time soon came when he 
Could not work at all with me, 
And when on his dying bed 
This is what the old man said: 

Come, my lad, help me to load 
For the driver's on the road; 
If we would full wages earn 
We must keep up with the turn. 



117 



WHEN I WAS A LAD 

I am now a man full grown 
Having children of my own, 
One of them a sturdy boy 
Works and fills my heart with joy; 
I give him the easy job 
Throwing rubbish in the gob, 
And somehow throughout the day 
This is what I often say: 

Come, my lad, help me to load 
For the driver's on the road; 
If we would full wages earn 
We must keep up with the turn. 



118 



SWEETHEART, I LOVE YOU SO 

^npHE tears you shed at parting, 
"*" Are like the magic stone, 
Attracting from a distance 

My heart unto your own; 
I yet can see them glisten, 

Though I am far away. 
And when I stoop to listen 

I think I hear you say: 

Goodbye my love, it grieves me 

To part with you today; 
It seems my own heart leaves me 

And goes with you away; 
Love me and I will trust you. 

No matter where you go, 
I love you, darling, just you. 

Sweetheart, I love you so. 

The night breeze soft and tender 

Blows gently from the sea. 
Wafting upon its bosom 

An image dear to me; 
I see it in the moon-beam 

That dances on the spray 
And bending down to listen 

I still can hear you say: 



119 



SWEETHEART, I LOVE YOU SO 

They tell me time is fleeting, 

So quickly does it fly; 
To me the hours pass slowly 

And will not hurry by; 
When loneliness oppresses 

Your image comes this way, 
And bending down to listen 

I yet can hear you say: 



120 



PRETTY ANNIE JONES 

npHERE'S a pretty little maiden 
-*■ Living in a shady lane, 
Whose cheeks are fairer than the rose 

After a summer rain; 
Her eyes are full of merriment 

And shine like stars above, 
While in her gentle bosom beats 

A heart full of true love. 

Pretty little Annie, light-hearted, sweet and gay. 
Singing like a merry lark on a summer's day; 
Goodness and rare beauty is all the wealth she 

owns. 
But she's the richest girl in town — is pretty 

Annie Jones. 



121 



PRETTY ANNIE JONES 

I labor in the old coal mine 

From early morn to night, 
And though the world below is dark 

My heart is ever bright, 
For in the little shadows that 

My lamp makes in that place 
I see before my happy eyes 

Sweet Annie's charming face. 

The earth is full of happiness, 

For me it has no pain. 
There's only one girl in the world 

And she lives in the lane; 
The birds cannot outsing her 

Nor rival her sweet tones, 
The roses cannot be more fair 

Than pretty Annie Jones. 



122 



THE MINER'S LULLABY 

'T^HE miner's wife at close of daj^ 
"*" Sings softly to her fretful child, 
Who weary with long hours of play, 

Is at her loving breast beguiled. 
The sun falls down in golden light 

Into the distant, western sea; 
And Mamma holding baby tight 

Sings low to him a melody. 

Hush-a-by, hush-a-by, I hear the water 
flowing. 
It beats itself into a soft, white foam; 
Tootty-to, Tootty-to, I hear the whistle 
blowing, 
It's quitting time and Papa'll soon be home. 

The day has been a busy one 

For Mamma and the baby, too, 
While she the heavy work has done 

He played about as children do; 
At last worn out, he takes her hand. 

And leads her to the well-known chair, 
And she obeying his command 

Sings as she holds and rocks him there. 



123 



THE MINER'S LULLABY 

Hush-a-by, hush-a-by, I hear the water 
flowing, 
It beats itself into a soft, white foam; 
Tootty-to, tootty-to, I hear the whistle 
blowing, 
It's quitting time and Papa'll soon be home. 

When Papa comes with blackened face, 

He sees his darling fast asleep. 
Held close in Mamma's fond embrace, 

While o'er them evening shadows creep; 
And bending o'er the sleeping form. 

He kisses him with grateful joy, 
While Mamma, lest the touch alarm, 

Sings lowly to her dreaming boy. 

Hush-a-by, hush-a-by, I hear the water 
flowing. 
It beats itself into a soft, white foam; 
Tootty-to, tootty-to, I hear the whistle 
blowing. 
It's quitting time and Papa'll soon be home. 



124 



DON'T BLOCK THE W^HEELS OF JOY 

OOME fellows always wear a frown 
**^ And worry day and night; 
They think the world is upside down 

And never will get right; 
No matter what they say or do 

They cannot well destroy 
The cup of woe, which must o'erflow 

And block their wheels of joy. 

Don't block the wheels of joy, 
Whate'er you do, old boy; 
Conceal all dread and look ahead 
See gladness in the sky instead; 
The world is full of joy 
So, get your share, old boy; 
Just frown at strife and laugh with life- 
Don't block the wheels of joy. 



125 



DON'T BLOCK THE WHEELS OF JOY 

Your working place perhaps does not 

Meet with your full regard; 
The daily grind be of a kind 

To make things doubly hard; 
Still grumbling will not ease your lot 

Nor will real friendship toy 
With men who nurse misfortune's curse 

And block the wheels of joy. 

Don't let your mind get soaked with gloom, 

Don't cultivate despair; 
A constant frown will keep you down 

Upon the floor of care; 
Be cheerful and you'll find that friends 

Your precept will employ; 
Look up and smile and all the while 

You'll oil the wheels of joy. 



HI? 89 



126 





















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HECKMAN 

BINDERY INC. 

^ DEC 88 

^^^1^ N. MANCHESTER, 














